Dispatch from an advert future #169


He watched the news. “Refugees” had been something from far away. Now people like him were crammed onto ferries fleeing apocalyptic flames. These people took photos with phones like his, watched the unfolding disaster on tablets like his. They were leaving cities like his, homes like his, with children like his. This was a disaster. And now it was clear, it was his disaster too. He had to do something. The wildfires were bad enough, but the smoke. Denser. Blacker. Spreading across the sky: blocking the light; blocking his advertising. He reached for the control panel and boosted the power.

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